Its been getting ugly in my neighborhood these past few weeks: the new complex owners installed a kiddie playground directly outside my bedroom/living rooms, where I sleep/write. And in the mornings, when I used to sleep in after writing late, are now taken up by teams of people digging post holes and pounding lumber into the ground then sawing and drilling dozens of new “porches” in front of apartments (+$75/mo. for renters). So I’ve been sleeping badly, and eventually I’ve gotten to the point where three out of four nights I’m up and raring to go around midnight.
There’s a certain peace and calm, for me, stepping out of the house to start my day. I go to a local 24-hour place to write, and can bang out six hours of writing, up to 7,500 words, cranked beup on coffee and the parallel play of other humans. I don’t know if it’s being out of the normal time stream, or that quiet that settles over the area when the traffic lights blink suggestions to the odd car instead of blazing out orders to traffic. If it weren’t so hard to find sleep during the day, I might take up vampiric English composition.